


Green

by notapepper



Series: Near Miss (Canon Based) [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Extended Scene, F/M, Fitz's Inner Thoughts, Gen, Infrequent Language, Jealous Fitz, Missing Scene, Spoilers for 1x14 - T.A.H.I.T.I., Spoilers for 1x18 - Providence, Spoilers for 1x19 - The Only Light in the Darkness, Spoilers for 1x20 - Nothing Personal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-03 10:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1741925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notapepper/pseuds/notapepper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why would Fitz be jealous of Trip? The man's terrible. </p><p>In which Fitz's false assumptions and insecurity get in the way of telling Jemma how he feels. Missing moments and glimpses into Fitz's thoughts from 1x14 - T.A.H.I.T.I., 1x18 - Providence, 1x19 - The Only Light in the Darkness and 1x20 - Nothing Personal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1x14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz overhears that Triplett has designs on Jemma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

“My man Trip’s got eyes for that biotech gal of yours.”

 

Fitz froze on the stairs as he heard Garrett above him.  What?  Agent Triplett was sweet on Jemma?   _Fitz’s_ Jemma?   _Well, not my Jemma, of course, that would be strange.  I just mean, my partner -- er, my lab partner, that is -- anyway the point is that Agent Triplett is a horrible person._

He remembered how the specialist had been all over Simmons earlier, while she’d saved Skye’s life.  ‘ _You’re a real miracle worker,’_ he’d said, as if chatting up a distraught Simmons in front of her entire team and her dying friend was in any way appropriate.   _Prick._

And Simmons had saved Skye using the GH-325 that Fitz recovered from the secret base, so really, Fitz was the one who’d rescued Skye, if he stopped to think about it.  But you didn’t see him trying to proposition the ladies on the team.   _His_ team.  Because Fitz was respectful, and there was a time and a place for everything. Well, everything except Triplett making a pass at Jemma.

The ‘miracle worker’ comment had been bad enough, but now, hearing Garrett confirm Triplett’s dastardly intentions, Fitz felt the profound need to find out exactly what Simmons and the Ops agent had talked about while Fitz was risking his life inside an explosively rigged bunker.  He scampered back down to the lab, brotherly protectiveness hurrying his footsteps.

 

“Simmons?”

“Oh, good!”  She looked at him expectantly.  “Where are the files?”

Crap.  He’d completely forgotten about that.

“Erm… Coulson wasn’t done with them yet.  Listen, Simmons, I was wondering -- what d’ you think of Agent Triplett?”

“Trip?  He seemed pleasant enough.”

She did not just say that.   _Trip?_  What did he call _her_ , Jems?  This was a disaster.

“What I mean is-- it must have been a bit weird, trying to save Skye with a complete stranger to work with.  What did you two talk about?”

“It’s not like we were sitting down over breakfast, Fitz… I was doing my best to keep Skye alive.”

“But you must have talked.”

“I suppose.  Why does it matter?”

Fitz knew he should let it go.  But Simmons was being squirrelly, which probably meant they’d spent all their time at Skye’s bedside making plans for coffee and discussing their favorite brand of pen.

“I just don’t know about that guy.”

Simmons chuckled dismissively.   _Yeah, that’s not suspicious._

“Don’t worry, I doubt you’ll have to see him again.”

 _Grrr._  Couldn’t Jemma see that he was only trying to help?  But if she wouldn’t talk to him, there was no way to push the issue without making things awkward.

“You’re right.  It’s not important.”  Fitz gave her one more searching look.  “I’ll go see if those files are ready now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been wanting to do a story for a while based around Fitz's jealousy of Trip and the false assumptions and obstacles it creates. I'm going to do this type of “missing moments” or scene expansion for 1x14, 1x18, and 1x19. Hope you like it!
> 
> There is a reference to this first chapter in my story Weak, which is itself a missing-moments fic based on 1x15.
> 
> Reviews are nicer than sticking your frosty-cold feet into a warm bath.


	2. 1x18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triplett invites himself on the Bus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

“You need to replace the grounding wires.”

 _Please.  Who’s the engineer here?_  If Fitz hadn’t replaced the grounding wires, it was because, in his expert opinion, they couldn’t afford the luxury.  It was _not_ , as Simmons seemed to be implying, a mistake on his part.  He felt a chuckle coming on.   _Such a worrier._  He did have to acknowledge the small blossom of pride that prickled through his chest at the fact that she’d gotten comfortable enough around machines to point out such a thing.   _Yep.  Taught ‘er everything she knows._

Fitz was straining, arms stretched above him into a blasted-out section of the cargo ramp.  He felt around blindly for the necessary port, grimacing.  “There's no time.  Ramp needs to be repaired by the end of the day, Coulson's orders.”

“What?”  Simmons shot him a disbelieving look from where she crouched, skimming her hands quickly over the motor, adjusting wires.  “Are they even proper orders?  S.H.I.E.L.D.'s been destroyed, Fury's dead, aren't they just requests?”

Fitz bent his head and shined a torch up into the ramp’s mechanical entrails.  “Well, either way, I'm in the middle of it.”  Everything looked good.   _Everythin’ except the blasted grounding wires._

“Well, _he's_ certainly not taking orders from anyone,” Simmons grumbled, as Triplett passed behind her carrying a ladder.

Not taking his eyes from his work, Fitz held out his hand and wiggled his fingers expectantly.  “Stator, please.”

Simmons hurried over with it, lowering her voice slightly in anticipation of broaching a sensitive subject.  “We have no jurisdiction now that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s been labeled a _terrorist_ organization.”

Fitz didn’t particularly want to think about all the trouble they’d fallen into, through no fault of their own, no less.   _I just want to do my job._  When he could reduce the world to a metal casing and a tangle of wires, then he could solve the problem.  Machines make sense.  Sleeper agents infiltrating secret government agencies for decades, didn’t.  The fact that he could be named an enemy of the state, didn’t.  Triplett still hanging around, when there were plenty of other teams at the Hub that needed an extra pair of hands, didn’t.

He wasn’t too upset with Triplett at the moment, however.  Even if he hadn’t been thrilled about the brightness that had invaded Simmons’ face a few days prior, when the tall, confident specialist had shown up to escort her away from the Bus, Jemma’d given Fitz such a hug when they were finally reunited that he was inclined to be pleasant towards everyone.

“Powers that be’ll sort it out.”  He clicked the motor into place and connected the data transfer cable.  “All we can do is fix one thing at a time…”  It was a good philosophy for life, as well.  “Starting with this servo drive.”  He plugged the power cord in with a flourish of pride.   _All set._

Her tone dropped skeptically.  “Yeah. You're right.”  She hopped away, going back to her previous task.  “However, you will need to replace those grounding wires.”

 _God, so finicky._  Always had been.  Fitz was more than a tad insulted by the way she was attempting to take over his repair.   _Hmmph.  Tryin’ to tell me my business._ “It's fine,” he assured her brusquely, with a minute shake of his head.  Fitz signaled to Triplett, who was near the master switch, and moved a safe-ish distance away.  “Okay, turn it on!”

Electricity blasted from the hole in the cargo ramp, crackling and fierce, while swirls of smoke oozed out like scrollwork on a wrought-iron gate.

“Whoa, whoa!”  Jemma was shouting, and Fitz danced up onto his toes, his entire body curling in fear.  “Turn it off!” he screamed, hands flapping around his head.

The specialist leapt into action, smacking the power off before bounding over to where the scientists were standing.

“You need to replace the groundin’ wires,” he drawled.   _Ugh!_  Had he heard Simmons say that?  Why was he parroting her?  Was she in cahoots with Triplett on this?  All of Fitz’s crankiness towards the man came stampeding back with a vengeance.

He shone the flashlight into Triplett’s face.  “ _You_ need to shush.”  And into Jemma’s. “Shush, both of you.”  Ignoring her small gasp of affronted surprise, he vented his irritation, unable to contain the _maagh_ in his throat that sounded like a cross between a goat, a puppet and an angry cat.  Fitz stormed off to go track down the bloody replacement wires, and to Hell with their timetable.  “Honestly, gangin’ up on me; think you're so smart, well, why don't you try fixin’ it?”

 

* * *

 

“I appreciate your help,” Coulson said in lieu of good-bye.   _More like good riddance._

“Enough to give me a bunk?  Seeing as you guys are down a specialist, I was hoping I could hitch a ride.”  Trip’s face was lit with hope.  Fitz’s was inversely proportional.

“Not gonna happen.  But, feel free to commandeer one of Hand’s vehicles.”   _That’s why he’s the boss._  Fitz had always liked Coulson.  The man had a solid head on his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, is there a problem?”

“No problem… just not letting you on my plane.”

Tension chilled the air as Trip and Coulson squared off.

“Garrett had me fooled, same as everyone else.”

“Everyone else wasn’t at his side, day in, day out.”  Fitz cheered internally.   _You tell ‘im, Coulson._

“Friends of mine are dead because of him.  Good friends.”    
  


Simmons stepped in.  “I think he should come with us, sir.”

 _What the hell?_  Fitz was usually the one getting knocked in the head, but after what she’d suggested, he thought someone should check Simmons over.

“Duly noted, Agent Simmons.  But this isn’t a democracy.”  Oh, she’d take that the wrong way.   _She’s a touchy one these days._  But Fitz knew exactly what Coulson meant.  He nodded in support.

“Isn’t it?  Under the circumstances, I think we should all have a say in this, and I witnessed Agent Triplett willing to die in defense of S.H.I.E.L.D.  Respectfully, sir, I think he should come along with us.”

Good grief, what exactly had happened between them at the Hub?  Fitz could imagine it in stomach-churning detail.  "‘ _What’s happening, Trip?  I’m frightened!’  ‘Hydra’s attacking, but don’t worry, girl.  I got you.’  ‘Oh, Trip, you’re so muscle-y!  Hold me with your enormous man-hands.’'_ " Something like that.  He’d known it was a bad idea for Simmons to go alone.

 

Coulson paused, looking between Simmons and Triplett.   _Probably picking up on their unspoken sexual tension.  Yuck._  “Okay.  But Agent Triplett is your responsibility.”

Wait, Triplett was staying?   _What happened to ‘not on my plane’?_  Fitz took back every nice thing he’d ever said about Coulson.  It was clear they were all going to die horribly.

 

* * *

 

Coulson had gotten coordinates from Fury, sent to his S.H.I.E.L.D. badge.  Triplett, unsurprisingly, thought it was a trap.  The unfortunate bit was that he’d started poisoning Simmons’ mind with his cockamamie theories.  And he was always _there_ , hanging around like a persistent cough.  Everyone had been so busy repairing the Bus that Fitz hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell Simmons about May and the gun… either time.   _But let’s not think about that now._

To add insult to injury, Fitz was being forced to put up with the Triplett’s balderdash in the lab -- _his_ lab -- because Simmons had asked for help assessing the damage and organizing their equipment.   _We’ve always taken stock of our supplies together.  It’s never been a three-person job before._  Sadly, Fitz was much too polite to ask the other agent to leave, especially since he’d volunteered to carry the heavy machines.

 

“We have to trust that Coulson knows what he’s doing.”

“Hey, I respect Coulson--”

“ _Agent_ Coulson,”  Fitz corrected him, adding under his breath, “... to you.”  He moved away, stacking an empty package at the end of the table.

Simmons looked up at the exchange, eyebrows high.

“Agent Coulson.  He saved our asses back at the Hub, but I’m telling you, he’s chasing the white whale.”

“Okay.”  This was getting ridiculous.  “Have you even read Moby Dick?”

“Yeah.  Have you?”  It took all of Fitz’s good manners not to smack Agent Triplett right in his stupid perfect facial hair.   _Snarky little tosser._  Fitz was glad he never behaved like that.   _I should tell him, ‘Your face is a Moby Dick.’_  No, he was a genius, he could think of something better.   _Think, Fitz!  Arrgh…_   Just like that, the window for a snappy comeback had passed.  Instead, he gave the man a good-natured smile.

“That’s not the point.  Now, if you’ll please stop spoutin’ your nonsense and let me get back to checking my inventory.”  For one gratifying minute, Trip went to shelve a crate.  Fitz busied his hands with bottles of chemicals.  Which left Simmons to deal with -- she rolled her eyes and blew out her cheeks.  Fitz could read her plain as day; she was going to side with her new boyfriend.

“He may be right, Fitz.  Coulson could be leading us into a trap and not even know it.”

 _Called it._  It was hard to enjoy that, though, when his best friend had clearly been suckered in by the worst person on the plane.  Who’d just returned.

“The whole world’s coming apart at the seams.  Now’s not the time to follow blindly.”  He said it like an order… _God, doesn’t this guy ever shut up?_  

“No.”  Fitz agreed.  It certainly wasn’t the time for any of them to get hornswoggled by handsome scoundrels who didn’t seem to own proper shirts.  He could barely look at Jemma.  “It’s times like these you stick with the guy you believe in.”

 

* * *

 

They were in the middle of the Canadian wilderness, and it was bloody cold.

 

“This is not good.”  Fitz held up his tablet, scouring the map.

“Bears.  Did it find bears?”  In the frosty breeze, cheeks pink and slightly scared, she looked so adorable it could almost have been annoying.

“No.  It found nothing.”  It was nice to talk like this, away from everyone else, if only by a few meters.  “No sign of life, or a S.H.I.E.L.D. base, or anything making it remotely worthwhile freezing our butts off.”  He sincerely hoped Coulson wasn’t crazy.  He was _not_ looking forward to walking back through this icy torment, or the know-it-all lecture Simmons would give him if it turned out to be a trap.  

 

Simmons paused, turning her body and bringing her eyes to his.  Her breath came in little white puffs, illuminating her like a snow princess.  Fitz slowed, mirroring her without a thought.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?”   _About what?  Triplett being awful?  About you choosing him over…_ “About Coulson?” she finished.

Oh, right, Coulson.   _Sure, that’s who I meant._   “I don’t know, Jemma.”  His voice was soft as the flakes on the ground.  “I want to believe Coulson knows what he’s doing, but…”  He shrugged.

“Well.”  She brightened momentarily.  “At least we still have each other.”

 _Thank you!_  That was all Fitz had been waiting to hear.  He couldn’t avoid the little grin that took over his mouth.

“Yeah.  Good.  ‘Cause the last thing I want is for things to change.”   _So don’t go getting yourself into trouble with any velvet-voiced superspies._

For some reason he couldn’t fathom, Fitz’s reassurance made her face fall.

“Fitz…” she tilted her head as if in pity.   _What’s she got to pity me for?_ If anything, he felt bad for _her_.  Simmons was the one too naive to be allowed near these Casanova types.  She exhaled, eyes melancholy.  “It’s too late for that.”

What was she saying?   _Jemma?_ It sounded disquietingly like she was calling time of death on their friendship.  He felt odd, helpless, as if a terrorist attack had disconnected his Internet and he couldn't focus on what to be upset by first; his only certainty being that everything was wrong.  Simmons moved on down the path, and Fitz stayed behind, silently wording unknown syllables into the bitter air.

 

* * *

* * *

 

It was the first time she and Fitz had been alone since the Hub.  Hiking through ancient pines in the dazzling winterscape, Simmons could almost ignore the chill, forget they were on a wild goose chase, and breathe in the solitude with her best friend.   _Assuming we don’t meet any bears, of course._

She’d felt him withdraw of late, growing dour and snappish, and she knew it had to do with their disagreements.  Now, given a moment’s peace, she wanted to impress on Fitz how much she valued their relationship.  More than valued.  Needed.  Trusted.  That conversation might stray into territory she wasn’t prepared to deal with, but she would take the risk.   

  
“At least we still have each other.”  Simmons knew it to be a constant, whether they were government agents or outlaws, lived on a mobile command unit or in a grass hut by the beach.   _The beach, that sounds lovely right about now._  She shivered and hunched her shoulders a bit further up into her parka.

“Yeah.  Good.”  Fitz smiled -- _God, how long has it been since he smiled?_ \-- and Simmons’ heart loosened from its vise.  Perhaps the events of the last several days, the stress of the Hydra takeover, the mad scramble to repair their plane… perhaps it would all be fine in the end.   _Forged in fire, as they say._

Fitz’s eyes caught the sun, a blue glacier sparkling on water.  He looked as hopeful as she felt. “‘Cause the last thing I want is for things to change.”  

But things _had_ changed.  S.H.I.E.L.D. had fallen, Ward was off somewhere with Hand, Coulson and May were fighting.  Skye had been forced to burn the only proof she’d ever belonged somewhere… and then there was that business with Agent Triplett.  Simmons had vouched for him, which, apparently, made the specialist her responsibility, and she took her responsibilities seriously.  Fitz… well, he was reacting to Trip’s presence with his usual aplomb, bellyaching as if she’d brought another dead cat into the lab.

There was no denying that everything was different now.  S.H.I.E.L.D. was different, the Bus was different, the lab was different.  She was different.

Simmons let her shoulders fall in sympathy for the boy who held so tightly to the past that he refused to imagine the future.

“Fitz… it’s too late for that.”

 

It was time to step into the present.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had to include the Simmons section, just to show that I don’t think she was intentionally trying to brush off Fitz and that I don’t (well, don’t any longer) think she was interested in Trip.  I remember being mad at what I thought was her "dismissing" Fitz when the episodes first aired, but I’m over it now.  She’s a sweet kid.
> 
> Reviews make me smile more than puppies.  But not baby hippos.  Because, come on.


	3. 1x19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip's always showing him up. The nerve of that guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Ward was back.  He’d joined them at Fury’s secret base to update them about the raid on the Fridge.  While Simmons treated his injuries, the team gathered around him in the lab, waiting for the story.

“I’m afraid this might scar…” breathed Simmons as she dabbed at a spot near his eye.   _Oh, not his cheekbones!_  Fitz leaned forward to peer at the damage on his friend’s face.

“Up-side: you’ll look badass,” smirked Skye.  “Dangerous.”   _So that’s what the ladies go for.  Perhaps I could “accidentally” cut myself shaving._

“He’s gonna be fine, though, right?”  Fitz didn’t know how he’d take it if Ward was out of commission.  Having to put up with Trip was making him seriously reconsider never building a death-ray.

“He will if you back up,”  Simmons shoved him out of the way -- _when did her tiny arms get so strong?_ \-- “and give me some room.”  Her tone was impatient.  Fitz stepped dutifully back, choosing not to remind her that Ward was his friend as much as hers, and if he wanted to look at him, he could.   _You don’t have a monopoly on examining him just because you enjoy it more._

Coulson’s face was grim as they took in the details of Ward’s story.  The team’s distress grew exponentially as the specialist outlined the attack, how they’d lost every piece of dangerous equipment stored within, and inadvertently loosed a gang of psychopathic supervillains on the neighboring area.  Even the nutjob who’d shot Skye was at large.

  
“And Garrett?  Did he get away?”  Fitz would never, if he lived to be a hundred, forget the gleeful look on that Nazi madman’s face as he promised to shoot Fitz’s kneecaps and break him to his will.   _And he threatened Simmons._  Fitz had promised to make him pay in a rare show of bravado, but he’d take what he could get if it meant they were all safe from Garrett.  He hoped the bastard had fallen into a propellor.  

“Couldn’t stop ‘em from taking the Fridge, but I wasn’t gonna let Garrett walk.  Not after what he did.”

“Is he the one that did this to you?”  Skye’s concern made Fitz wonder if there wasn’t something more between the hacker and her S.O.

“He was a tough son of a bitch.”

“Was?”  May was surprised.  “Past tense?”

“Soon as I had the upper hand, I put two in the back of his head.”

Coulson blanched.  He’d always been too honorable.  But Garrett didn’t deserve an honorable death.

“Good.”  Fitz meant it.  And if he thought about it long enough, surely he could figure out a way he’d been “a very big part” of Garrett’s demise.  It wouldn’t do to break a promise.

“One for me…” Ward looked over at Triplett. “One for you.”

“I would’ve emptied the mag.”

 _Ugh._ Such a showman.   _We get it, Agent Triplett, you’re violent.  Now please be quiet while Ward finishes his story._

Simmons deposited her instruments on the tray and walked back to Ward, efficient cheer smoothing her face.  “You’re all set.  Well, as set as you can be, with two cracked ribs and a zygomatic fracture.”

Fitz knew this one.  He’d been Simmons’ right hand man for years and had picked up quite the medical lexicon.  “For those of you that don’t know what that is, that’s a --”

“--a hairline fracture to the cheekbone,” Trip finished for him.  Trip.  Finished  _his_ sentence.  Then he gave him a smile so cocky Fitz was surprised May’s pants didn’t fly across the room.

 _Okay, that is all sorts of wrong._  First of all, Fitz was the one who finished Simmons’ sentences around here.  Did this make him Simmons?  Was Trip the new Fitz?  It was becoming depressingly clear that he was.   _Yeah, if I were tall, dark, and handsome, with abs so ripped they need a sewing machine._ Everyone else would probably applaud the upgrade.  The Fitzinator 2000, now with karate-chop action.

Second, how in the ruddy heck did Trip know about zygomatic fractures?  Had he learned it from Simmons?  When had Trip and Jemma been playing doctor?  Fitz tried to stop the scene from playing out in his head.  “‘ _I need a bandage, doc, STAT.’  ‘Oh no, why?’  ‘Cause I’m so… cut.’_  *flex biceps* ‘ _Oh, Trip!_ *lip bite*   _The doctor will_ _ **most definitely**_ _see you now!’_ ”  Okay, this was getting out of hand.  Fitz shook the image away while Jemma stood slightly closer than necessary to Ward’s naked chest and urged him softly, “Your body needs time to heal.  Please, take some time.”

As much as he wanted Ward back on the team and his replacement gone, Fitz had to admit Jemma made sense.  He couldn’t imagine what his friend had gone through at the Fridge.  Seeing all those innocent people die -- he knew Ward’s protective instinct would be drowning him in guilt right now.  And the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who’d been killed in the line of duty?  People he’d worked with before, joked around with?  A loyal person like Ward -- who’d saved Jemma’s life, and his, more times than he wanted to think about -- that sort of man couldn’t just take a loss like the Fridge in stride.  He should do as Simmons said, and get his head back on straight.

But that would all have to wait until after Orientation.

 

* * *

 

 

“You wash up on a deserted island alone.  Sitting on the sand is a box.  What is in that box?”

What kind of lie detector questions were these?  First the egg-rock conundrum, now this castaway gobbledygook.  He doubted Koenig would find it funny if he answered Mary-Ann and Ginger.  And after losing his badge, he found himself oddly craving that spiffy new lanyard.

“How big is the box?”  That would certainly help narrow down the possible answers.  For instance, an absurdly large box might hold the Helicarrier.  How very convenient.

“Just say the first answer that comes into your mind.  What’s in that box?”

Wait.   _Did he say I washed up **alone**?_  Not possible.

“Simmons.”

 

* * *

 

“Marcus Daniels was an assistant at a physics lab where they were trying to harness the electrical power of something called Dark Force.”  Coulson clicked the magazine into his gun and turned, handing it to Triplett.  “Nothing bad ever happens when you work with something called Dark Force,” he quipped.

Fitz had studied the subject extensively -- this was his time to shine.  “It’s a form of cosmic radiation.  Pure negative energy: unstable, but powerful.”   _Booyah!  Who’s cocky now?_  He looked at Simmons, waiting for her customary smile to encourage him to keep going.  They both found Dark Force fascinating; the topic had fueled many a late-night debate at the Boiler Room.  But no smile came.  Simmons looked at him blankly; he could see the words written across her forehead: “ _Just stop talking, Fitz, you’re only making yourself look bad.”_

Triplett did smile.  A patronizing, infuriating little smile, that made Fitz feel like a first-grader with a participation sticker.  As if he didn’t already have to crane his neck to see the guy.  “You knew that already, didn’t you?”

Fitz crossed his arms.  See if he tried teaching _them_ anything else today.

It rankled him more than he let on.  How could Agent Triplett be so damn good at everything?   _Who is this guy, the Last Airbender?_ Fitz could see how the man might show some aptitude for stitching himself up in the field.  And so what if he’d enjoyed his high school English class?  But physics was Fitz’s area of expertise.  It didn’t compute.   _Don’t forget he has perfect teeth._  He shouldn’t have had time for oral hygiene in between all the James Bond ninja training, reading classic literature, and seducing impressionable biochemists.  Maybe he was immortal.  A vampire, set on making Simmons his vampire queen.   _No wonder he went after Jemma -- she’s got the right coloring for it._

  
Coulson was telling them about Marcus, how he could kill with a touch and absorb any attempt to neutralize him.

“He sounds unstoppable.”  Look at her little face.   _Don’t fret, pet._  Even if bargain-basement Romeo couldn’t protect Jemma with his gun show, Fitz still would.

 _Focus on the briefing, Fitz._  Coulson was talking to him, something about taking down Daniels with a bunch of flashlights.   _Now that, I can do._

“Exposing him to more energy than he can absorb at once.  I’m sure we could engineer some sort of delivery mechanism en route.”

“That’s what I was hoping you were gonna say.”  Coulson’s approval tasted like warm pumpkin pie.  Which curdled as soon as he asked Triplett to come along, giving him the exact same response.  Fitz could hear his crotchety grandad in his head, the one time Fitz had shown off an invention to the old codger: “ _Ye think yer so special, laddie?  Well yer not.”_

They were dismissed.  Trip, he presumed, was about to go search for a good place to do a chin-up, and maybe Fitz would finally get a chance to talk to Jemma about Dark Force.   _Or not._ As he watched, Triplett and Simmons shared a perfect white smile, clearly in the midst of an inside joke to which Fitz was not privy.  He couldn’t help the disgusted huff that escaped him.  He just hoped his breakfast would taste good on the way back up.

 

* * *

 

Fitz spotted Ward in the hall.  “Hey,” he called, heading toward the specialist.  “Ward.”

“Hey!  Got my lanyard.”  He held it up proudly.

“Nice.”  Fitz flicked the plastic rectangle with a fingernail.

“So, you guys taking off?”

“Yeah, I wish you were coming, instead of Trip.  He’s insufferable, isn’t he?”  Ward would understand.  After all, the first time they’d both been on the Bus, he and Trip had gotten into fisticuffs.

“Trip?  I think the guy’s OK.”  That was Ward, always giving people the benefit of the doubt.   _Don’t swallow your words on my account, big fella.  We both know what’s up._

“I know, he’s terrible.  He’s a horrible person.”

Ward nodded, assessing him.  “You sure this about him?”  He raised an eyebrow.  “Not about Simmons?”

Well, of course it was about Simmons.  Fitz was trying to make sure she didn’t get recruited to the legions of the undead, for Christ’s sake.  But he didn’t care for the discerning way the specialist was looking at him.  “What the Hell does that mean?”

Ward pressed his lips together and brought his chin down.  The effect was intense.  “Everything is falling apart around us.  We don’t know how it’ll end.  If there’s something you want to tell her…” he nudged his head forward supportively, “don’t wait.”

Fitz narrowed his eyes.  He should warn Simmons off of Trip?  He’d tried -- and failed -- the first time he’d learned about Triplett’s infatuation.  And even if he did talk to her, at this point, it wouldn’t work.  Simmons had already fallen for the long con: hook, line, and sinker.  All Fitz could do was wait for the wedding invitations to arrive.

Besides, when did Ward ever care about giving personal advice?  “Maybe Simmons should check you again for a head injury… ‘cause that is not the Ward that I know.”  Fitz turned to go.

“You know what?”  Ward sounded impatient.  “Do what you want.  I don’t care.”

 _There’s our big softie._  “Good to have you back.”

 

* * *

 

Fitz and Coulson had nearly died trying to overpower Daniels in the street, and the poor D.W.A.R.F.s hadn’t fared much better.  Fitz was fixing Sneezy while they listened in on Simmons and Trip’s conversation with Audrey Nathan.  Poor Jemma, she was lying about as smoothly as ever, and Fitz tried not to chuckle in front of his team lead.

“He just stood there, saying I was his light.”  That Marcus Daniels was one creepy individual.  How could Simmons have thought it was _romantic_ to obsess over someone like that?  Fitz was glad he’d never gotten so dependent on a woman.

“That’s why I know I can trust S.H.I.E.L.D.  Phil never lied to me.”

“Phil?”  Jemma’s voice was soft.

“Agent Phillip Coulson.”

Fitz’s mouth dropped open and his stylus tumbled out.   _This_ was the Cellist?

“Is that--?  Audrey was-- you two were--”

“Yeah,”  Coulson choked out.

“Okay.”  Fitz went back to tinkering with the bot.  It wasn’t his place to say anything.  If Coulson wanted to keep himself from the woman he loved, he must have a good reason.  But it was still incredibly sad.

“Maybe you should go in there.”

“No, she’s healing.”  Coulson seemed resigned.  “She’s getting on with her life.  We should help her do that.”

 _Yep, that’s his business, that’s fine._  Fitz had an idea.  “I think I know a way to stop Daniels.  For good.”

 

* * *

 

Coulson and Fitz were in the lighting box, waiting for Audrey to lure Daniels out into the open.  Triplett and Jemma (why were they always paired these days?  TripSimmons didn’t have nearly the same ring) stood onstage, giving the Cellist her instructions and offering reassurance.

“See up there?” Jemma pointed to the control booth.  “Our best agents are watching.  I promise, they won’t let anything happen to you.”  He knew she meant Coulson, but Fitz felt a flush of pride all the same.

“I pulled these from the jet’s power reserves.  Simmons made me wear gloves.”  Jemma was such a stickler for the rules.  Fitz found it hilarious.  “She’s so uptight, that one.”

Fitz had basically turned a stage light into a gamma ray… _No big deal._  Fitz wasn’t one to strut.  Anyway, it was time to kick some Dark Force baddie’s arse.

“Daniels’ll be here soon.”  Coulson was staring out of the booth’s window, and Fitz followed his eyes to the Cellist.  His own eyes skipped to Jemma, who was laying an encouraging hand on her shoulder in a show of solidarity.  Simmons had always been kind, for as long as Fitz had known her.

“Why don’t you tell her the truth?  That you’re still alive?”

Coulson gave him A Look.  Fitz pushed down the surge of embarrassment that came with counseling his boss on relationships.  “Sir.  It’s just, the way she talks about you -- sounds like you two had something nice.”

“We did.”

  
Suddenly it was showtime.  Everyone needed to get into position for the ambush.  Fitz watched Simmons hop away from the Cellist, walking like a Peanuts cartoon.  He found it unsettlingly precious.

“So it’s not because you’re afraid to talk to her?”  Of course it wasn’t.  Coulson was a brave guy.  He would never be afraid to talk to a woman.  Where had this line of thinking come from?

“I don’t want to hurt her again.  Besides, it’s not like I can stay.  We have a job to do.”

“Yes.”  That they did.

 

* * *

 

The ambush hadn’t exactly gone as planned.  They’d formed a triangle around Daniels -- Fitz and Simmons up in the catwalk, Trip down below, each holding a stage light.  Coulson was manning the switchboard from the booth, still keeping himself hidden from Audrey.  It should have worked.

But Daniels was stronger than anyone expected.  He’d returned fire with beams of pure Dark Force, knocking Jemma’s gamma ray emitter out of her hands and into the plush chairs below.  A minute later, Coulson and Trip had swooped in like a pair of Canadian Mounties and saved the day.  It didn’t matter.  All Fitz could think about was Simmons.

There were fireflies at the edge of his vision, ash on his tongue.  He smelled the static in the air and tripped over his feet, limping.   _Can’t stop._  He kept moving, needing to touch her hand, to breathe in her calm.

“Jemma!” He hobbled towards her, propping himself up on the railing.  She was gasping, holding her stomach.   _Oh God, please be okay._  Fitz wasn’t religious, but his mum was, and he’d been dragged to church plenty as a kid.  Surely that would net him a few points with the man upstairs.

When he finally reached her, Fitz didn’t know what to do.  She was always the one who took charge of things like this.  He fluttered uselessly, landing in a kneeling heap.  “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.  Just socked the wind out of me.”  She breathed in sharply, face contorting into a wry smile.  “It’s not fun, though, is it?”

Fitz didn’t know if he believed her yet.  But the Dark Force had left _him_ more or less intact, so he had to assume the best.  The alternative was-- well, there was no alternative.

“It’s no picnic, that’s for sure.  I got a blast of it on the road last night.  And poor Bashful may never be the same again.”

“Oh, Fitz, you didn’t!  Are you all right?  Why didn’t you say?”  As quick as that, Simmons was in caretaker mode, patting him down, turning his face left and right.  Fitz let her cluck over him, snuggling into the down comforter of Jemma’s ministrations.  She hadn’t shown this much concern in ages, and so help him, he was going to enjoy it.

 

* * *

 

They were headed back to Providence.  Technically, the mission had been successful, but Fitz wondered if Coulson was really that happy about it.  Sitting in the cargo hold, both men strapped into their seats, the silence signaled otherwise.

“Sir?  Is everything okay?”

Coulson looked morose.  He puffed a cynical breath out of his nose.  “She said I never lied to her.  Today I did.  But she’s alive, and safe.  We did that, at least.”

“Why didn’t you tell her the truth?”  

“I will.  Someday, I guess.  When there’s a chance she’ll understand.”

Fitz could relate.  He was starting to realize he might have a few more things to tell Jemma about than just Trip’s vampiric nature.  Things that had vaguely to do with the ache inside his chest when she smiled, or how his stomach fell like a feather in a vacuum when she was in danger.  Fitz had never been jealous.  His mum had taught him, _“Don't look into your neighbor’s bowl to see if he has more than you -- only look to see if he has enough.”_  So he knew it wasn’t jealousy, his problem with Agent Triplett.  But he reckoned maybe he’d been blaming the specialist a little too much for his own insecurities.  And it really wasn’t Trip’s fault that he was good at stuff.   _Maybe he’s just on a really excellent pub trivia team._

 

A shadow fell across them as Simmons filled the door.  Coulson promptly excused himself, and Fitz had to refrain from asking the older man to stay.  His breath hitched.  Fitz didn’t feel prepared to deal with this new information quite yet.

Jemma strode purposefully to face him.  “We need to talk,” she sighed.

 _She’s always so direct._  It was one of the qualities Fitz loved about her.  Well, not _loved_ \-- okay, maybe loved.  But if Fitz had learned anything from movies and listening to his classmates jabber about their dating lives, those particular four words were always trouble.  “We do?”

“Agent Triplett thinks he’s done something to upset you.”   _Oh, so we’re back to calling him Agent Triplett?_  Well, it was a step in the right direction.  “Fitz, if you’re questioning his loyalty in any way, I can assure you--”

“It’s not him.”  It wasn’t.  Fitz saw that now.

“Well what is it then?”  Her bewildered tone said it all.   _She hasn't a clue that I love her.  When did she stop reading my mind?_  He opened his mouth.

Simmons quirked her eyebrow, pressing.  She was at a loss, and Fitz knew how that must sting.  But if Coulson couldn’t reveal himself to Audrey, how could Fitz hope to do the same with Jemma?  At least Audrey returned Coulson’s affections.  At least she wouldn’t reject him.  Fitz doubted Jemma even thought of him as a guy, not with the buffet of manliness on offer aboard the Bus.  He’d tell her, he promised himself.  Just not today.  

“You know how I can be… I hate change.”

 

Coulson’s words echoed in his head.

“ _Someday… when there’s a chance she’ll understand.”_  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember how satisfying this episode was to watch.  I always love Fitz, and there was a ton of him here.  I would probably watch an entire hour show about Fitz.
> 
> The “don’t look in your neighbor’s bowl” speech may not originally be from comedian Louis C.K., but that’s where I got it.  The man is brilliant.
> 
> I’ve had a request for 1x20, but I’m not sure if I want to go into such a dark and conflicted head space with my lighthearted Fitz.  I may, however, write up the scenes from 1x20 and 1x21 where he and Trip start to become better friends, as a resolution to the jealousy storyline.  Don’t hold me to that, though, as I’m also focused on my other story, Oh To Be Young.
> 
> Once again, thanks to everyone who is reviewing, favoriting and following.  I love you guys!  Your support fills up my belly like strawberry crepes.
> 
> And comments are the whipped cream on the crepes!


	4. 1x20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trip might _not_ be a vampire. Imagine that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final chapter begins right _after_ Fitz’s freakout. I apologize if this is disappointing to you. The autopsy/freakout scene has been very well covered by the fandom, and if you’d like to read more on that, it was recently given a beautiful treatment in “We are one in everlasting peace” by leo_fitz_is_a_gryffindor.

Koenig was dead.  Ward was Hydra.  And Fitz was _not_ going to think about that.

_We have to fix the communications.  We have to track that plane.  Can you do that?_

Coulson’s voice was a mantra.  An urgent motif, winding and rewinding through his head, barely keeping him from falling off a mountainside into irrationality.   _Fix the communications._ He could feel the rope tight against his waist as he scrabbled for a foothold.   _Track that plane._ He reached above his head and shook loose a shower of dust and grit.  He choked.   _Can you do that?_

Simmons stayed a few steps behind him as he strode angrily to the server closet, hovering and fluttering at the edge of his sight like a mother bird.  “Fitz…?”

“What.”  Was he muttering without realizing it again?   _Fix the communications._  “What is it, Simmons?”

“I’m sorr--”

“No.”   _Track that plane._

“I know this is hard--”

“ _No._ ”  This wasn’t hard.  This was simple.  Comms were down.  Fitz had to get them back online.   _Can you do that?_

“Ward--”

“No!”  Fitz rounded on Simmons, fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to control his breathing in the cramped room.  She was too close.  Why was she so close?  He was a game of Jenga at the moment, and if she touched him…  “You can help, or you can leave me to it.  We have work to do.”  He whirled back to the rack-mounted server tower and flipped off the top, clicking on his torch and looking inside.

Silence.  Then her voice, weak at first, but growing in determination.  “Right.  Of course.  What do you need me to do?”

Fitz spotted the problem immediately, though the smell of burning plastic and acrid smoke would have tipped him off as to its source.  Someone had tossed a flare into one of the racks, melting the motherboard and fusing the data cables.

Pulling on a pair of gloves, Fitz gingerly removed the busted server blade.

“This is ruined,” he sighed, frustrated, and still a furnace of suppressed emotion.  “They didn’t just cut the communication lines, they completely destroyed the satellite encryption circuitry card.  Which is what sends the signal--”  
“--between the base and the satellite--”  
“--and decrypts it on the way down.  It’s no wonder we couldn’t get back online before.”

He put down the server blade, one hand on his hip, and rubbed long fingers across his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut as his brain sprinted.   _Fix the communications._ “Okay.  Okay.”   _Track that plane._  “If I can just… erm…”  His shock, his rage, had started to abate, replaced with panicked irritation.  That was fine.  Panic was familiar.  Irritation was practically a sibling.  “If we had a _monkey_ …”  He just needed one good idea and everything would sort itself out.

Simmons cut into his thoughts, reassuring him the way she always did when they were faced with a challenge.  “Think of it as an exam.  Alright?  Start at the beginning; show your work.”

Fitz inhaled.  First things first.  “I’ll have to trim away the damaged fiber-optics and splice them to a hardened patch cable.”

“I’ll get the patch cord.”  He thought she might be nodding, there at the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, okay.”  He pressed his mouth into an x-axis.  “There should be a few reels in that corner,” he indicated without looking, “But we still have to find a new encryption card, and redirect the signal from Providence’s dedicated router.”   _Can you do that?_  “Erm, so for that, I have to…  I could probably…”

This was a good puzzle.  Fitz didn’t like to be bored.  And having something to fix was really, really important right now.   _Fix the communications._ He stepped back from the server tower, hands going up into his hair, and bumped into Simmons, who was bent over dragging at least a hundred feet of cable in big plastic wheels over to where he stood.

“Sorry,” she said automatically, startling upright.

He froze at how near she was.  Well, it was a bloody closet, of course she was near.  Still, having her close like this reminded him of the discovery he’d made earlier, talking to Coulson on the flight back.   _Track that plane_.  The one blind spot in their psychic link.  The unassailable, devouring, pants-on-head ridiculous crush he’d developed on his best friend while he wasn’t paying attention.  

This distance also let him see the moisture on her cheeks, reflected in the dim, blinking gloom of the servers.  He exhaled.

“Hey.  Y’ okay?”  And immediately cursed himself -- of course she wasn’t -- twisting his mouth in a shamed grimace.  “Er-- I just meant--  I can do this myself, if you--”

“I’m fine.  Well, no-- I’ve just had my hands on a corpse, and confirmed the betrayal of a friend.  But,” her eyes softened, “I’m all right to help you with this.”

Sweet, brave Jemma, carrying on in the face of adversity.   _Can you do that?_  He hadn’t thought about the fact that she would be having trouble with this too, but why wouldn’t she?  Simmons wasn’t cold.  She was scientific.  He knew the difference.  And in Fitz’s mad scramble to scale the cliff face of his own mind, she was a handhold.  His mind started to clear, breath coming more evenly as he marinated in the melted-butter feelings she evoked.

“Thank you.”  Fitz didn’t need to be loud in such a small space, and the fondness that came out in those two syllables threatened to give him away.

The sound of a throat clearing jerked his head to to the door.  Ugh.  Of course it would be Agent Triplett.  ‘ _Who the Hell are you?  I mean, really, c’mon.  I don’t even know who you are.’_  Fitz’s rage threatened its comeback.  It must have shown on his face, because suddenly Jemma was at his side, murmuring for him to breathe.  ‘ _Don’t tell me to take a breath.’_  His last interaction with Triplett came back in staccato flashes, like gunfire.  ‘ _Don’t touch me.’_  Jemma’s delicate fingers grazed quietly against his palm, a gentle reminder that his anger was misplaced.

“Just came to see if y’all need any help.”  His neat dark brows went up at their proximity, but to his credit, Triplett withheld comment.

FitzSimmons answered simultaneously with contradicting responses .  “We’re perfectly capable of--”  “That would be most appreciated, thank you.”

 _Damn it._  She wanted him to stay.  Of course she’d want to be in a closet with Trip.  This was secondary school all over again.

They began a hushed conversation of overlapping half-formed phrases, each inferring what the other meant through a blend of eyes, gestures, and words.

“Fitz, we could use a hand…”  
“There’s barely room for _us_ in here…”  
“... if we do part of the work elsewhere…”  
“... haven’t got a spare encryption card, anyway, so I don’t know…”  
“... Agent Triplett’s done nothing but help the team…”  
“... I can sort it…”  
“... reached a standstill and…”

“I’ve got it!”

Fitz snapped his fingers.  “We roll _that_ ,” he pointed to the patch cord at Simmons’ feet, “out to the jumpjet, and route our communications through the jet’s encryption hardware.”

Simmons raised an eyebrow.  “But will that work?  The satellite uplink is keyed to a different--”

“You’re right, I’ll have to reconfigure it.”  Fitz interrupted, fingers doing a tap dance on the cool metal wall of the server racks, brain churning at a couple hundred kilometers per hour.  “But first,” he was getting tired just thinking about this, but it was a good kind of exhaustion, that left no room for other concerns, “we’ll need to unplug every one of Providence’s devices from the router so we don’t trigger an automatic security lockdown.”

Simmons nodded decisively.  “I’ll get started straightaway.”

“That’s a lot of computers; let me help you,”  Triplett offered in his easy drawl.

“No--”  Fitz cut in quickly, “I’ll need you with me in the hangar.”  Lugging those heavy cable drums all the way out to the jet would require a fair bit of manual labor -- he didn’t want Jemma doing that.  “Simmons is smaller anyway; she’ll fit better under the desks.”

And Fitz could use a break from the way she was looking at the specialist.  Or the souvenir it left of the way she _didn’t_ look at him.

Fitz grabbed a spool of cable and began to unroll it down the hall.  “Come on, Agent Triplett; I need an input _and_ an output cord.  Two-man job!”  Triplett cast one more glance at Simmons as she scurried off to the surveillance room.  Fitz motioned impatiently to the spools.  “Take the other one, will you?  Coulson’s waitin’.  No time to dilly-dally!”  

Trip shot him a quick grin, “You’re the comms genius.  Lead the way.”

 _What’s he smilin’ at me for?_  Fitz was getting antsy again, anxiety chivvying his footsteps down the corridor.  “I’m more of a tech genius.  Skye’s the comms whiz.”  Skye.  ‘ _She just walked out of here hand in hand with someone she knows is a murderer.’_  They’d all trusted a murderer.  But that wasn’t right.  Murderers weren’t supposed to save your life.  Shouldn’t Ward have been stealing from babies and petting a skinless cat?  If they’d been fooled by _him_ , what if…?   _Nope._ _ **Not**_ _thinkin’ about that._  Fitz’s heartbeat notched up and his feet matched the pace.

“Once we get to the jumpjet,” he puffed, practically jogging the cable drum along the floor, “I’ll hook up the encryption card and reset the key so that we can relay the signal out to a remote antenna…”

“Sounds good to me.”  Trip had gained on him effortlessly.

Fitz didn’t look at Triplett, but kept talking, words tumbling out of his mouth and crashing into each other in a worried tussle.  “We’ll lose bandwith -- naught t’ be done about that now… the jet’s card is small, it’s only sized to send out state-of-health pings while flyin’, but--”

His toe caught against a twisted section of patch lead, and suddenly Fitz was on the tile, cable wrapped over his leg, his pride smarting worse than his knee.

“Whoa, buddy, you okay?”

 _I’m not your buddy, pal._  But he untangled himself and took the proffered hand.   _Of course_ _ **I’d**_ _be the one to stumble, instead of the guy named Trip._

“Easy does it,” cautioned the older agent as Fitz settled out and placed his feet.

“I’m fine,” he bit out, grabbing a drum and returning to his labors.  The tornado was starting to whirl again in the back of his mind.  And he was hungry too.  Fitz had never gotten his pancakes -- _murder has a pesky way of ruinin’ breakfast_ \-- and his stomach was staging a protest.  “Let’s focus on what we need to do, yeah?”

“No problem… but y’ might wanna slow down a peg.  My grandma always says, ‘A crab goin’ too fast falls into the pot.’”

_Oh, good.  I was hopin’ you’d treat me to some of your folksy wisdom._

They reached the blast doors and rolled their much-lightened spools into the hangar.  In Fitz’s mind, the repair was already complete and he was back in the kitchen, munching on the salted chocolate-covered almonds he’d hidden in the cupboard.  He might even share some with Simmons.  As Triplett moved ahead of Fitz, he had a horrifying thought.   _Never mind.  Definitely do not want Jemma developin’ a taste for chocolate salty nuts._  “I just want to be done with this.”

“So you can get back to your girl?”

Fitz looked up sharply, scanning for signs of teasing in the specialist’s expression.  “What d’ y’ mean by that?”

“Can’t’ve been easy for her, what went down back there.  I figured you’d wanna go make sure she’s all right.”

 _I don’t need your permission._  But instead he muttered, “Don’t you worry about Simmons.”  If anyone was checking up on her, it was going to be Fitz.   _D’ you know why?  Because she’s_ _ **my**_ _friend._  “She’ll get her part done.”

“Girl’s a trooper.”   _Damn skippy._  “But right now?  I’m worried about all y’all.”  He paused, somehow managing to recline without any surfaces nearby.  “Word of advice?”

 _No thanks, I’d rather lick an old foot._  He settled for subtly rolling his eyes.

“Good judgment comes from experience, and a lotta that comes from bad judgment.”  They finally stopped at the jet, hoisting the cable reels up into the maintenance hatch as Fitz scooted into the claustrophobic space to rig up the hardware, momentarily proud at being short enough to slide in unimpeded.   _Reckon Triplett couldn’t fit in here._

“I told you before, Garrett had me conned.  I lived with the man.  Worked with ‘im.  And he turned out to be a lyin’ S.O.B.”

Fitz stuck his hand down and wiggled it insistently.  “Screwdriver.”   _Maybe if I’m extra quiet, he’ll bloody get on with it._

“So I can understand bein’ mad, Agent Fitz, believe m--”

“No, the flat-head.”

Triplett didn’t even sound phased as he passed him the correct tool.  “Thing is, that kind of betrayal can change a man.  And I heard how you stood up to Garrett at the Hub.  Doesn’t seem to me like you need much changin’.”

Of course he would bring up the way Fitz had cried.   _Probably thinks it’s a sign of weakness, more fool him._  But he supposed, the man was trying to give him a compliment.   _Even if all that nonsense about changin’ sounds like he’s comparin’ me to a baby._  “Connectors, please.”  Fitz tightened the card back into its slot and snapped the grips into place.  “Done.”

“Glad to help.  What’s next?”

“Nothin’.”

“Nothing?  You fixed the whole problem, just like that?”

“Well, _I’ve_ got one last thing to do, and as I said, the bandwith’ll suffer, but if I’m right -- and I’m usually dead on -- it should still be sufficient to get us online and track the Bus.”

“Damn… you’re like a ninja with this stuff.”  Fitz couldn’t help feeling a small campfire of pride, carefully contained, start to crackle in his chest.  “I’ll find Coulson, tell ‘im he can plug everythin’ back in.”

“Not quite.  I’ve still got to splice some cables, connect the router.  Won’t take long.”  It was a bit strange -- whenever Fitz spoke, he got the distinct impression that Triplett was giving him his undivided attention.  He guessed that was the sort of thing that might make a person charming.  “I’ll get Simmons; she’s done it before.”

Triplett flashed him what was becoming his trademark toothpaste-white smile.  “I gotcha.  Let me know when we’re up and runnin’.”

As Trip started to bound away, long legs loping in search of another useful chore, Fitz called after him.  “Hey.”

The specialist slowed, unnervingly graceful, like a coyote approaching the highway.  “Need somethin’?”

“No, I just--  You can call me Fitz.  Not Agent Fitz.”

There was that grin again.  “Sure thing, Fitz.”

-o-

 

“Trade you my wirecutters for your pliers.”

They were back in the server closet, putting together the last bits of their successful workaround to a seemingly unworkable problem.   _Score another point for FitzSimmons._

When she handed him the pliers, their fingers brushed against each other, palpable warmth through the thin rubber gloves.  Fitz really hadn’t paid much attention to how often they shared these casual touches.   _But it’s a lot._

“You seem in better spirits,” she prompted, fiddling with a length of muti-stranded cable that needed to be completely cut away.

“Yep.  What about you?”  Fitz swallowed, remembering Triplett’s advice.  “Jemma, I’m sorry I snapped at you.  I had no right--”

“Hush,” she donned her best librarian face, shaking her head.  “I should have let you have your silence, think things through the way you always do.”  Her chin dipped down, breaking eye contact.  “I just don’t ever want you feeling as if you’re alone.”

Fitz methodically scraped melted plastic off the wires in his hand, pondering the best way to answer her.  Then she coughed, a little, squirmy thing in her throat like a puppy, and looked back up, changing the subject.  “And I hope you were civil to Agent Triplett,” she said primly.  “He’s lost as much or more as any of us.”

 _Always so bossy._ “Yes, mum, I was nice to the other boys.”  She rolled her eyes; he went rigid as the realization struck that he’d just compared her to his mother.   _Oh, let’s not even get into_ _ **that**_ _._  Fortunately, Fitz had years of practice recovering after a gaffe.

“Why d’ y’ want me to like him so much, anyway?  Holdin’ auditions for a new best friend?”  It was meant to come out as a joke, to lighten things up a bit, but Fitz’s breath hitched on the word _friend_ and couldn’t quite sell the comedy.

“What?  Of course not…”  Simmons narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing, and a minuscule tug of her lip told him he was not going to like her next statement.  “Is _that_ why you’ve been so horrid to Triplett?”  Her smile had broadened into a white expanse of pitying mirth.  

He scowled.  This wasn’t going at all the way he’d intended.  “I’d hardly describe my--”

“Do you think I like him better than you?” She could scarcely restrain her laughter as she beamed out coddling reassurances, eyebrows tenting in mock concern.

“ _No_ ,” came the defensive retort, and if it fell peevishly out of his mouth like a wad of gum, that was only because she’d provoked him.  “I don’t even care about that.  You’re-- you-- _you’re_ the one--”  Fitz was spluttering, and grateful for the heat of the server tower giving him a plausible excuse for his flush.

“Oh, Fitz.”  Jemma couldn’t very well hug him with their hands full of circuitry and wires, but she leaned over and bumped his side with hers, jostling the words in his throat more than she did his elbows.  “ _You’re_ my favorite.  Yeah?”

Fitz was thoroughly embarrassed that she thought he needed such blatant reassurance.  “Yeah.”  But, bathed in her coruscating spirit, his pout started to flip of its own accord.

“Let’s finish this; I’m starvin’.”

 

* * *

 

“We're not criminals.”  Simmons’ patience was wearing thin, and rightly so.  Who was this Colonel Talbot to accuse them?   _And what the Hell’s goin’ on with his mustache?_  The thing looked like a diseased bird’s wing left to rot.

“Great.  Then we'll take you in, and you can tell us all about it.”

Jemma rolled her eyes and turned back to face Fitz.  He understood her disbelief, her utter contempt for this swaggering thug.  Simmons had never suffered bullies very well.  It was one of the things that first brought them together.

Triplett stared mutely ahead, refusing to engage the colonel, a silent show of solidarity at Simmons’ side.   _I should have been at her side._  But this way Fitz could watch the flash and rumble as it swept over her face.  This way he could meet her eyes without drawing the military man’s attention.  For that, Fitz was grateful.  And next to Talbot, Trip seemed far more decent than most.   _Maybe he’s_ _**not** _ _a vampire._ Either way, his facial hair blew Talbot’s out of the water.

Talbot’s condescending attitude oozed like a punctured insect.  “At the very least, you're fugitives,” he strolled across the kitchen, forcing them to wait for his return -- _psychological tactic, no doubt_ \-- “and running away… puts a bit of a… guilty stink on it, don't you think?”  He grabbed an apple and sauntered back with a patronizing air.   _Why does_ _**he** _ _get an apple?_  Fitz wanted an apple, but no -- he was stuck in an uncomfortable plastic chair, being interrogated by the U.S. government for things he hadn’t even done.

Triplett squared his shoulders, his voice strong and steady.  “We're not Hydra.  We're agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.”  For all that he was new to their team, Trip was proving himself loyal.   _Coulson’s influence, that's plain enough._

Talbot waved his arms in a flourish, as if ruining a magic trick to a group of schoolchildren.  “Well, right now, to the rest of the world, that's the same thing.”  He was so cocky he must have thought the sun rose every day just to hear him crow, widening his stance while he crunched a loud, stupid, Texas-sized bite out of his apple.   _Probably has to feed the caterpillar on his upper lip before it gets cranky._  Fitz could relate.

“All right, I'm gonna tell you how it's gonna be.”  Even over the revolting sound of chewing with his mouth open, Talbot had the practiced air of someone offering a deal to people who were in no position to bargain.  “You give me actionable intelligence, and I'll allow you to serve time awarded.”  Simmons looked skeptical.   _We’ve done nothing wrong; you tell ‘im, Jemma._ “Your other options are… pretty much Hell.”

So it was between prison and Hell?  Was that supposed to encourage them to talk?  After the morning Fitz had had, he was in no mood.  And he was sick of watching this prick’s mouth-terrier jump for scraps.  “Do your worst.”  Fitz’s voice was soft.  Talbot raised his brows in fake surprise, but before the wanker could start up with any more bluster or penis-measuring, Jemma burst into the conversation.  And her voice was _not_ soft.  

“We have told you of a known Hydra agent.”  She was emphatic and calm altogether.  Fitz loved to watch when her fires stoked, though he was sorry it had to be under the present circumstances.  “He's getting away, and your little intimidation speech is keeping us from saving the life of a fellow agent - a _friend_.”  Talbot didn’t even dignify Jemma with his attention until she’d finished speaking.  When he did turn to her, the belittling amusement on his face was enough to make Fitz’s teeth grind.

 _She shouldn’t even be here._ She wouldn’t hurt a fly.  She couldn’t lie her way out of a hammock.  A Hydra agent?  It was preposterous.   _They_ should be laughing at _Talbot_.   _Especially as he’s got an eyebrow underneath his nose.  I mean, really.  That’s just weird._

“Sister, you haven't seen intimidation, and right now I'm you're only friend.  I'd be careful not to piss me off.”

The tiny white flecks of pulp still stuck in his soup-trap were making Fitz’s jaw twitch, that threatening tone shoring his resolve.  Almost as if Talbot had given a signal, all three agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. cast up determined eyes.  This arsehole was lying; Simmons did have friends, two of whom were in this room.   _And if anyone’s pissed off?_  It was Fitz.

 

* * *

 

It was the end of another long day in the wake of the Hydra takeover.  Thankfully, they’d gotten Skye back -- _so that’s somethin’_ \-- and were now holed up in a cheap Los Angeles motel.  Especially on the heels of snowy Providence, Fitz was adjusting badly to the California weather, but he couldn’t bring himself to doff his typical layers.  Triplett could get away with showing off his bare arms; Fitz chose to cool off by rolling up his trouser legs and dipping his feet in the pool.

The lull also meant he’d had some time to think about what had happened.  Besides, if he didn’t talk about his feelings at _some_ point, Simmons would just force the heart-to-heart out of him.   _Probably duct tape me to a sofa and pour tea down my throat until I go all twee and sentimental on ‘er._  So here they were, both getting their feet wet in their emotional fallout as the world’s most absurdly large flowerpot stood guard behind them.   _Seriously, how big_ _ **is**_ _that thing?_  It was straight out of Little Shop of Horrors.

He sighed.  “Must be some reason why Ward did it.”  He kept his eyes on the illuminated aquamarine water.  “Maybe they brainwashed him.”

Simmons sat at his right, resting her torso on the curved metal bar of the pool ladder, but keeping her legs angled towards him.  “Don't know.  Some people are just evil.”  She said it matter-of-factly.  They’d been having this discussion since they’d known each other, and Fitz spared her a quick look before uncrossing his arms to put his hands behind him, shifting his weight backwards onto them.

“Well I'd rather not believe that.”

“It's true.”  She was as sure of herself as ever.  “I just assumed we'd be better at spotting it.”

Of course, she _would_ be upset about the fact that she hadn’t been _clever_ enough to see through his sheep’s clothing.

Fitz drew in a shuddering breath and forced himself to voice the question that had been plaguing him since that morning.  Simmons wouldn’t be mad at him.   _She’s forgiving to a fault._  She’d understand why he needed to ask.

“Tell me that you're not Hydra.”  The words were tight, laden with necessity.

It got her attention.  “What?”  She looked bewildered.

His face called out to hers in its pain.  “I know that it's ridiculous, but I just need to hear you say it.”  He didn’t think she would make fun of him for this, but he’d suffered more than a few nasty surprises lately.

The bloom of comprehension opened over her face, brow winging up as she leaned forward, compassion etched into every pore.

“I'm not Hydra,” she stated simply.  Her face was lit with the gentle smile he’d come to think of as home, her sincerity pillowing and petting him like a sleepy child.

“Yeah, good-- Good.  And I-- 'cause I'm not, either.”

“Of course not.”  

The look he got for that made him wish he’d kept his mouth shut.   _Such reproach._  He should have known she wouldn’t blame him for asking after _her_ motives, but would scoff when he reassured her about _his_.  She turned back towards the softly lapping waves, but Fitz screwed up his courage.

“Because if if you ever did--”

“I wouldn't.”

“-- I don't know what I would do.”  He was hoping she would capture his meaning, screaming it at her through his eyes when they found hers again.  It was the closest he’d come to telling her the truth about his heart.

He _did_ know what he would do.  Fitz would follow her anywhere.   _That_ was why he needed so badly to hear her say she wasn’t Hydra.

Her gaze flickered over his face and a comforting smile edged across her lips.

“You'll never have to find out.”  She said it with such finality, her words so absolute, that he thought it might be the closest she had ever come to saying something back.

And still Fitz’s insecurity crushed his windpipe, preventing any further admissions like one of May’s roundhouse kicks to the larynx, and Fitz found himself looking down at his legs.

Then, from one breath to the next, he was staring at Jemma’s hand.  On his knee.   _Well, that’s intimate._  Granted, he and Simmons shared fleeting touches every now and then -- _key word_ _ **fleeting**_ \-- usually on the arm or shoulder, but not exclusively.  So this wasn’t so unusual.   _Right?_  

The small squeeze of her fingers at the bottom of his thigh set his mind racing.  The way her palm stayed there, after social propriety would dictate she remove it, had him struggling for breath.   _What do I do?  Do I tell her_?  He gulped, hard.

Should he respond in kind?  He couldn’t -- the team was _right_ there, for God’s sake.  And still she remained, touching his knee through his jeans.  What was she doing?  He couldn’t decipher the message behind her lingering hand, but he was fairly confident it didn’t mean _nothing_.

Fitz worked up his resolve, fingers twitching in anticipation.  “Jemma--”

“Hey, y’all want some chips?”  Agent Triplett ambled around the pool, waving a bag of crisps, and Simmons withdrew.  She didn’t seem embarrassed, despite having all but felt Fitz up a second before.   _As if practically gropin’ me were perfectly appropriate behavior for a Monday night._  But withdraw she did, and the moment, whatever else it was, was broken.

Fitz was pretty sure Trip had interrupted them on purpose.  His brow knitted itself into a disgruntled frown.

  
_Fucking Triplett._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Fitz gets really angry at Trip early on in episode 20, but by the end, and certainly by episode 21, they seem fine with each other. So I wrote the “missing scene” here as a sort of bridge to show how he warmed up to the man (obviously, not completely). It was supposed to be much shorter, but I should know by now that “short” isn’t really my style.  
> Triplett’s poolside interruption is dedicated to starbrightnights, as mild revenge for her constant kiss-blocking in the very awesome fic “Back to the Beginning”.  
> Fitz’s thought about licking feet is a reference to [TheLateNightStoryteller](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5373487/)'s one-shot on FF, “What Happens in Quarantine”, which is truly heartwarming and funny.  
> “I’m not your buddy, pal” and “chocolate salty nuts” are both South Park references.  
> Evil people petting hairless cats is, of course, from Austin Powers.  
> Anyway, this fic’s finished now. If you'd like to read what happens next in Fitz and Trip's relationship, check out my excellent beta amandajoyce118's story "Incidentals" which is the 9th installment in her Conversation Hearts collection, and then read "Wager" which is the 23rd.
> 
> And thanks to y’all for your patience! I know this chapter was a long time coming. If you enjoyed it, feel free to check out my other stories!
> 
> (Reviews make me happier than a carefree AU where FitzSimmons get together without much drama.)


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